Darth Maul vs The Doctor
by Sivad Ttarp
Summary: A TARDIS malfunction brings the 11th Doctor face to face with a sith warrior.


Darth Maul vs. The Doctor

It was really very simple, first, the twist of a lever, then a paragraph on the typewriter, followed by wiping a few invisible specs of dust from the monitor. After that it was quite necessary to contemplate the reflection thereon, to make sure one's bow tie was as exceedingly cool as possible. The Time Lord known as the Doctor smiled. It was.

And people thought driving was difficult.

The Doctor circled the console in the TARDIS control room, appraisingly. The hardest thing was deciding where to go. He had so many ideas, so many memories. The more places he'd been the more that he needed to see. For pleasure, sure, and more often than not he came as a healer. To right the wrongs, fix the problems. A Doctor. The Doctor who couldn't make up his mind. It was always so much harder when he was alone; their hopes, their dreams, they gave him…focus.

"Alright, old girl," he said finally. "Surprise me." He flicked a switch at random.

The TARDIS began to throb, but within seconds the familiar sound ground to a clanking halt. The lights on the console flickered, and the floor bucked beneath his feet, throwing the Doctor into the railing.

"Not like that," he scolded, "Pleasant surprise, like a Christmas gift. Always could use a new pair of socks, left ones especially. What's gotten into you this time? Oh…apparently him."

It was a humanoid figure wearing a dark cloak. His clothing was simple and black, boots, gloves, cloth pants and tunic; he wasn't tall but the Doctor guessed from his build that he had strength and agility to spare. A long metal cylinder hung at his belt, some kind of technological device. The man drew back his hood, he looked just as surprised to see the TARDIS and the Doctor as the Doctor was to see him. He almost resembled Earth's stereotypical devils. His eyes were yellow; his teeth sharp, little horns were evenly spaced around his cranium in place of hair. The most striking thing about him was the tattoos, red and black, covering his face and the rest of his skin, as far as the Doctor could tell. He'd seen many aliens in his time, more aliens than most, but never one quite like this man.

"Hello," said the Doctor, calmly, trying not to frighten the stranger (finding themselves instantly in the time machine instead of their natural surroundings could be a bit disconcerting for people, the Doctor knew this from experience). "Welcome. I don't know where you came from or how you got here, but I'll do my best to find out."

The Doctor produced his sonic screwdriver from his tweed jacket and leveled it at the alien, the tip glowed green and whirred as it began to scan.

The Doctor jumped, startled, as the screwdriver was wrenched out of his grip telekinetically and thrown over the railing. "Now, we don't have to do this-" The Doctor began, as the alien charged at him, a grimace of rage on his face. His spinning kick caught the Doctor in the chest. The Time Lord tumbled back over the railing to slam down to the floor below, beside the assorted machinery underneath the main console.

The Doctor rolled away got to his feet, as the dark figure leapt down from above, flipping acrobatically in the air before landing on his feet. The length of metal was in his hand.

"I'm afraid you misunderstood my intentions," the Doctor said quickly, "I was only scanning, I'm sure we can get along around here."

The horned man brandished the hilt and twin energy blades crackled into existence, one from either end.

"Then again, perhaps not," the Doctor raised an eyebrow. "That's quite a device, though I wouldn't use it too cut a sandwich, wouldn't be anything left to eat." The Doctor dodged aside as a crimson blade came down, slicing into the metal floor with a shower of sparks.

The Doctor turned and ran, maneuvering through the tangle of pipes and engines, his assailant right on his heels. The alien twirled the weapon proficiently, slicing through pipes and battery housings. The Doctor felt the heat on his back as the blade came down behind him, severing a narrow hose as well. Grabbing one end of the hose, the Doctor brandished it at the alien, a fog of noxious gas spraying in his face.

Gagging, the alien gave the Doctor enough time to bound forward and scoop up his sonic screwdriver from where it had fallen. As the tattooed man charged at the Time Lord, the Doctor brandished the Galifreyan tool. First one and then the other energy blade of the weapon sputtered then went out entirely.

"Heh," the Doctor smiled, it hadn't been difficult to sabotage the mechanism within. "Now-", he was cut off as the alien swung the metal hilt, catching him full on the chin. The Doctor spun against a bulkhead, and sidestepped as a gloved fist slammed into the surface where his head had been. The metal rang.

The Doctor seized ahold of a pipe above, and swung out with his legs, catching the alien in the chest, knocking him back. The Doctor sprinted away, leaping up to grab ahold to the platform above, he pulled himself up to the main console.

Scanning with his sonic, the Doctor darted to the main console, scanning a readout. A miniscule tear in the fabric of space-time had occurred in the TARDIS, bringing the mysterious alien here. The potential for the hole was still there it wouldn't be too difficult to reopen; he could program the Screwdriver to focus the TARDIS's inner singularity and do just that. It would take about thirty seconds. The Doctor slid his screwdriver into a slot in the console and pressed a few buttons.

There was a thud as the black-clad alien's boots met the platform. He'd jumped all the way back up. The Doctor turned to face him; the man had put the weapon back on his belt, and was flexing his fingers menacingly. _Thirty seconds? I can do this. I think._

The Doctor grabbed the alien's wrist with both hands as he punched, and spun, using the alien's own momentum to swing him away.

The Doctor doubled over as a telekinetic fist walloped him in the gut. A knee came up under his chin, and a shoved slammed him against the console. The red and black alien clenched his fist in the air, and the Doctor's throat closed. His heartbeats pounded in his ears as he struggled and failed to bring in air.

With a pleasant ding, the sonic screwdriver popper out of the main console like toast from a toaster and fell into the Doctor's hand. He pointed and hoped.

The screwdriver hummed. A look of confusion came across the alien's face as the air around him shimmered like a mirage. He disappeared from view, and Doctor slumped against the console, finally able to breathe.

…

Darth Maul sat up; drops of water ran down his smooth head. His robes were soaked. Almost as soon as he'd arrived in the mysterious room of colored metal and nonsensical technology and engaged the threatening, peculiarly-dressed and surprisingly strong human he was gone again, this time materializing in a fountain in the gardens adjoining Theed palace. The moon was low in the sky, the city empty of the sounds of life, replaced by the clanking metal footsteps of the occupying military voice.

"Lord Maul," came a nasally voice. Maul looked to see one of the battle droids, a gangly, tan automated soldier. "The Viceroy wishes to discuss the palace's security arrangements with you. Your communicator wasn't working." The droid did not seem at all surprised to see have found the Sith apprentice reclining in a fountain.

Maul exited the pool. The Trade Federation bureaucracy was an annoyance worth tolerating, for the time being at least. Lord Sidious had told him to expect a battle; the blockade would finally push the indigenous of Naboo to their breaking point.

Maul would be prepared to meet them.

…

"Oh," said the Doctor remorsefully, examining the long rent burned into the back of his tweed jacket. He draped the jacket over the nearby railing. The lighting in the TARDIS flickered, accompanied by a shower of sparks. "Oh," said the Doctor, even more remorsefully, peering over the railing. The mysterious alien's energy blade had certainly done its damage. This would be far more intensive than his standard TARDIS maintenance and repair.

"Hmm," he said looking over the console. The screen flickered off; the Doctor applied his sonic, with intent to turn it back on. He heard a high-pitched whine that was definitely not the sound of his screwdriver. He leapt to his feet and spun around, surprising man now standing perhaps twenty yards away.

This man was a human; the Doctor's screwdriver confirmed his suspicions. The man was a Caucasian with brown hair. He wore black boots and trousers and a red long-sleeved shirt with a small arrow-shaped insignia on the side of his chest. The sound had come from a square black device he had hang from a strap that he'd been using to scan his surroundings.

"Hello, I didn't mean to startle you," said the man. "What is this place?"

"You don't intend to use that, do you?" the Doctor asked indicating the technologically advanced handheld energy weapon on the man's belt.

"No, not particularly," said the man. "Why, do you have hostile intentions?"

"No, of course not, just making sure. I'm the Doctor." They shook hands. "I'm guessing you're surprised to be here."

"Yes, in fact," said the man in the red shirt. "I was just returning to the ship, a routine exploration of a class M planet we'd just chanced upon, when I felt a sensation not unlike a transporter and wound up here."

"What ship would that be?" asked the Doctor.

"The USS Enterprise. I'm guessing I'm no longer aboard. Are you sure you didn't bring me here intentionally?"

"Never heard of it. No, at least probably not. And yes." The Doctor turned back to a pair of monitors set into the console.

"Really?" asked Red Shirt (as the Doctor had decided to call him), "How about James T. Kirk?"

"Never heard of him."

"The United Federation of Planets?"

"Is that at all like the Shadow Proclamation?"

"The what?" Red Shirt resumed his scan. "You look human," he told the Doctor, "But you've got two hearts and a whole lot of things I don't recognize. You're like no species catalogued before."

"I get that a lot."

"Come mention, this ship is the same way, if it even is a ship. This technology doesn't make any sense."

The Doctor shushed him, "He just means it's smaller on the outside," he whispered, patting the console affectionately. The lights flickered again.

"I think I've figured it out," the Doctor said. "There's been a drain on the power for a long time now, small enough I never noticed it before, preying on nonessential systems I generally forget about, one's that don't make much of a difference unless I pass through an intersection points for different realities, like I just did. It allowed those anomalies to snap open, just for a few seconds. That's how the man in black with the horns and the red face appeared a moment ago, and it's how you got here as well."

"You mean I just missed a date with the devil," Red Shirt looked nervous.

"No," the Doctor shook his head, "Take it from me, the devil's a whole lot taller."

He expected another confused or confusing response, but was greeted with silence. The Doctor looked up, but Red Shirt was nowhere to be seen. "Hello!" he called. "Is anyone there? Red Shirted human?"

There was no response, the Doctor circled to console, seeing no sign of the human. Instead he saw something else, something a lot worse, halfway up the ramp. At least it explained where the man had gone. It was the gray stone statue of an angel in a flowing robe. Its wings were outstretched, its left arm outstretched, fingers grasping. Its right arm was missing. The angel's face was the mask of a demon, mouth stretched open wide, lined with was anger there that would have put the horned alien to shame.

"Oh, that explains it," the Doctor sighed. "A Weeping Angel. That was the drain on the power."

The lights flickered out again, and when they came on a split second later, the angel was at the top of the ramp. The Doctor resisted the urge to blink.

"I remember you!" he realized, taking in the missing limb. "London 2012 with Amy and Rory; of course this was your plan. The runner, the torch, what would an Angel want with those? It was a ploy, a ruse to sneak in here, an all-you-can-eat buffet of time energy."

The lights flickered again. "Oh no you don't," the Doctor extended his sonic toward the main console. When he saw the Angel again its hand was inches from his face. A monitor on the console blew out in an explosion of wires and sparks, but more spectacular even than that, a crack split across the angels face. As white light burst from within the stone splintered and broke. Soon nothing remained of the Weeping Angel but a pile of gravel and dust.

"Perhaps I'd better get the vacuum," the Doctor kicked at the pile. Once he knew the organic nature of its source, it hadn't been hard redirect the time vortex. There was no way one weeping angel could consume even a fraction of the TARDIS's energy all at once. It was a procedure not unlike pinching the skin beside a biting mosquito and watching the insect pop, so filled with blood that it would burst.

"I never could hold onto a companion," said the Doctor. The TARDIS's only response was another shower of sparks and a thud.

The Doctor looked around at the damage, and ran a hand through his lengthy hair. He paused to straighten his bow tie in the mirror. It needed it. "Looks like we've got some quality time ahead of us, old girl."


End file.
